Doing Time
by r4ven3
Summary: The story opens a week after Ruth's death - end of 10.6. Harry has to leave the UK because the CIA haven't finished with him.
1. Chapter 1

"I can't do it, Erin. I'm needed here. Without Ruth, we're way behind with the intel. I need to -"

Calum, this is an order. We need him as far away from the Grid in as short a time as possible. The CIA are planning to pick him up tomorrow morning, so we have to act fast."

"But why can't Dimitri do it? Or one of the junior field officers?"

"It has to be someone who knows him, someone who can put up with him in his current condition. And it helps that you can pass for his son."

"Thank you for that, Erin. Now you're saying I look like him."

"I think you'll find I didn't say that. You can _pass_ for his son – you're around the right age, and you and he have a …... similar build."

"I'm too tall to be his son."

"Sons tend to be taller than their fathers. It's an observation backed up by the statistics."

"So what you're saying is that I have to accompany a grieving man to the funeral of the woman he loves, and then – somehow – convince him to board a plane and traipse around Europe with me."

"Yes. We already have your legends prepared, and the passports are ready. I'll forewarn him, so he'll be easier for you to -"

"Manage?"

"Yes. Manage. Your assignment is to manage Harry Pearce."

* * *

The man who opened his front door to Calum barely looked like the same man who'd crossed swords with him so many times at work. Harry's eyes were so dulled by pain that Calum could feel it vibrating in the air between them. His shoulders were hunched and rounded, like all the wind had been knocked out of him, and it appeared he'd not shaved for days. This was not the Harry he knew. This Harry had, just seven days previously, held the woman he loved in his arms while she died.

"I'm under orders from Erin."

"I know. She rang me."

"I'm to accompany you to …... to the funeral, and then I have to get you out of the country toot sweet."

Harry still had his hand on the door, and would find it easy to close it in Calum's face, and there'd be nothing he could do about it. "I'm not going to the funeral," Harry said quietly.

"Not going to Ruth's funeral?"

"You heard me. You'd better come inside. I have to pack some things. And I suppose I should shave."

"But it's Ruth's funeral, Harry …..."

The older man stopped in mid-stride in the middle of his hallway, and turned to face Calum. "I am fully aware of whose funeral it is today, Calum," he said coldly, each syllable delivered machine-gun-like, as only Harry could.

"Sorry, Harry. Sorry. I have our passports ready. Apparently I'm travelling as your son."

"Yes, the irony has not escaped me. I'm coming with you quietly. It will embarrass our government were I to be carted of to Guantanamo Bay, and we can't have that now, can we? Where are we off to?"

"Everywhere, and you can't say goodbye to anyone before we go."

"Who is there left for me to say goodbye to?" Harry's face was the picture of sadness and loss. Had either of them been the hugging kind, Calum would have hugged him.

* * *

"We have to change legends now, Harry," Calum said carefully. On the flight from Heathrow, he and Harry had barely exchanged more than ten words.

"Who are we pretending to be now?"

"John and Aaron Saddler."

"So we're still father and son."

"I'm afraid so."

And so it was that they criss-crossed Europe, from London to Venice, and then to Berlin. From Berlin to Copenhagen, and then to Graz. From Graz, a couple of Harry and Calum look-alikes flew on to Cape Town, (chiefly to put the CIA off the trail, should they be paying attention,) while Harry and Calum – as Roger and Matthew Milburn – stayed overnight at a hotel in Graz. In the morning they flew to Lisbon, and from Lisbon they flew to Madrid, and then to Glasgow.

"At the risk of asking the obvious," Harry said, his voice flat, "why are we back in the UK?"

"Cos," replied Calum, "your safe house is in Scotland. But first, we have a hire car to pick up, and then it's on to Kirkcaldy."

"This is my legend for my time in Scotland, I take it?"

"Lewis Mulholland, yes. And I'm your devoted son, Dominic."

"Hmm," Harry said, staring out the passenger side window as the grey streetscape of Glasgow gave way to the grey landscape. He was unable to appreciate the beauty of the stark countryside in the half-light of early evening. His heart, that part of him which he'd believed was beyond being touched by another, had been broken, and he was certain it was beyond repair. He lay his head back against his headrest, and pretended to sleep. The problem was that every time he closed his eyes, all he saw was her face as she'd breathed her last, her eyes closed, her lips pale, her words ringing in his ears: _Harry, we were never meant to have those things. _He was yet to come to terms with her prognostication.

* * *

Apart from two comfort stops, and a stop on the outskirts of Edinburgh to buy food and stretch their legs, Calum drove straight through to Kirkcaldy. When Harry had offered to drive, Calum had turned him down.

"I'm not about to drive us off the Forth Bridge, Calum."

"My orders are to drive all the way myself."

"Since when did you follow orders?"

"Since Erin was giving them. She scares me," he said, a grin on his face. "It's those stiletto heels. She could well put my eye out with one of those."

It was almost eight o'clock at night when Calum pulled the car to a stop across the road from a farm house just outside Chapel Farm, north-east of Kirkcaldy.

"Is this it?" asked Harry.

"This is it. The end of the line."

"You could have worded that differently."

"Sorry, boss."

"There's someone there, in the house," Harry observed.

"You can see through walls?"

"No. There's smoke coming from a chimney, and I can see a glow from a light at the back of the farm house."

"I think the owner may have come in and lit a fire, and left a few lights on. To make you feel welcome."

"You told me the owner was a retired asset of Adam Carter's, and that she's spending six months with her daughter in New Zealand."

"Well, yes, but there's a caretaker."

"Owner? Caretaker? Which is it?"

"I think it's a caretaker. Look, Harry, I have to deliver you to the door, you enter the building using the key I gave you, and then within thirty minutes if you haven't let out a blood-curdling scream, I'm free to leave and drive myself back to Glasgow in time to take a late flight back to London. So, let's get this over with, shall we?"

"How long am I to stay here?"

"Until you get the call. You have the safe phone, so keep it charged. There are a lot of people working on getting your charges dropped. The PM is even getting in on the act, and you know how he likes to keep his hands clean."

"I'll be forever grateful," Harry said sarcastically.

"I believe the caretaker has a spare car you can use. To go out for supplies."

"The only supplies I require come in a bottle."

"Let's go, shall we?"

Calum stood by as Harry turned his key in the lock. He then handed the older man his hold-all, and moved as if to shake his hand.

"I might be back out in a few minutes. Give me twenty minutes, and then I'll ring you. If I don't ring you, come knocking, just in case."

Calum walked slowly back to the car, his hands deep in his coat pockets. He kept turning around to look at the door through which Harry had disappeared. Despite his curmudgeonly manner, Calum was very fond of Harry, and he believed that life had dealt him a rough hand of late. He had witnessed Ruth's attempts to protect Harry from Sasha Gavrik, and then as Ruth lay dying, their true feelings for each other were on display for all to see. Calum hoped he could find some kind of peace during the time he spent alone in this house, a long way from London and his memories.

* * *

Harry closed the front door behind him, and walked quietly down the long and wide passageway which took him almost the entire length of the house, closed doors at intervals on either side. There was a light on somewhere at the back of the house, and so it seemed obvious to him that he should head in that direction. The passageway opened on to a large open plan room, part kitchen, part living room, part dining room. He turned towards the direction of the light, when from behind him he heard a sound. He stopped, still as a statue.

"Hello Harry," a familiar voice said, and heart thudding in his chest, he turned slowly to face the owner of that voice.


	2. Chapter 2

_He turned towards the direction of the light, when from behind him he heard a sound. He stopped, still as a statue._

"_Hello Harry," a familiar voice said, and heart thudding in his chest, he turned slowly to face the owner of that voice._

* * *

Hearing a strangled sound coming from his own throat, Harry dropped his hold-all. Tears sprang into his eyes, and he swallowed several times in an effort to hold them back.

"Harry," she said, reaching out to touch his arm.

"I …... I thought you were dead," he said, his voice raw and raspy. "Everyone told me you were dead. Why didn't …...?"

"I know. I'm sorry." Her hand still grasped his arm, as he struggled to maintain control, breathing deeply, his shoulders heaving. "Sit down over there. I'll get you a glass of water."

He lowered his tired body on to the over-sized dark brown sofa, while she moved through to the kitchen area and poured a glass of water from the tap. In those few moments he noticed how she used her right hand for everything in order to protect her left side. He watched her for a few seconds, and then the dam broke. He was no longer able to hold back his tears. Resting his elbows on his knees, he put his head in his hands, and sobbed like a child. All his pent up pain and grief from losing her poured out of him, and there was nothing he could do to stop it, as his chest heaved and his shoulders shook, and sounds came out of him the like of which he'd not heard for decades.

Moving as fast as she was able, Ruth placed the glass of water on a side table, and sat down beside him. She put her left hand on his thigh, and the other on the back of his neck, rubbing circles on his skin with her thumb. After some minutes, Harry's sobbing subsided, and he sat back and rested his back against the sofa, wiping his eyes with one hand. As Ruth sat back beside him, he allowed his body to lean towards her until he rested against her. She lifted her arm as he did so, her hand still on his neck, her fingers still gently massaging the skin just above his collar. Her lips touched his forehead in a light kiss. They stayed that way for some time, neither wanting to move.

Ten minutes had passed in near silence before Harry suddenly sat up. "I have to ring Calum," he said, wiping his free hand across his eyes. "He's outside waiting for me to give the okay."

Harry thrust his hand into a pocket of his coat, brought out his safe phone, and pressed next to Calum's name.

"Calum?" he said. "It's me. It's fine in here. No nasty surprises …... .. no, you can go. Thanks for what you did. I'll see you soon."

Sitting in the hire car and closing his phone after the call, Calum wondered briefly about the change in his boss's tone. If he'd heard correctly, Harry had sounded almost happy, so different from the weary, resigned man he had driven here. As he'd accompanied Harry to the door, Calum had briefly considered offering to stay for a night, perhaps two, just to help him settle in. That had not been part of his brief, but he'd been concerned the older man might accidentally fall on something sharp, or perhaps swallow something not designed for the human digestive tract. He'd thought perhaps Harry had needed a minder, even if only for his first night in this remote safe house. Calum started the hire car, and slowly drove off, trusting that he would see Harry again, hopefully soon.

Inside the farm house, Ruth reached across and took Harry's face in her hands. She was about to touch his lips with her own when he pulled back.

"I need a shower," he said, "and a change of clothes. I've been on planes for almost two days, and prior to that, I was living on a liquid diet. And I don't mean water or tea. As much as I really want to kiss you, I need to clean up first."

"Give me your clothes, and I'll put them through the wash," Ruth said. "And while you're in the shower I'll make us some dinner. Do you like beans on toast?"

"I'd eat anything right now." Harry smiled at her, his first full smile for over seven days. Seven days? It had felt to him like seventy.

* * *

They began their meal in silence. Both had questions for the other, but neither knew how or where to begin. Something had been gnawing away inside Harry's mind, until he could no longer keep it to himself.

"Ruth," he said, pausing to take a sip of water, "it's obvious you're not dead, but you had a punctured lung. Shouldn't you be in hospital?"

"If we're to share this house for a week or so, I really need to tell you about that."

"I'd like to know."

"I have a punctured lung, but it's not severe, or not as severe as first thought. I regained consciousness in the helicopter after they gave me a shot of adrenalin, and they said I'd passed out while on the ground due to shock."

"But Dimitri gave you adrenalin while you were still on the ground, and it didn't work."

"The adrenalin Dimitri gave me may have been out of date. At least, that's what I was later told."

"But you were bleeding severely. You were stabbed, Ruth."

"They flew me to St Thomas's hospital, where I was operated on. I have a jagged scar here," she said, placing her palm gently across her lower left side. "There was some muscle damage, so that had to be repaired."

"Ruth, you shouldn't be doing anything at all, and here you've been looking after me."

"I am supposed to be resting. It's the only way I was able to get them to discharge me from hospital. I was flown here two days ago, and I have a nurse come in each morning to change my dressing and check on my vitals. If there are problems with my recovery, then a doctor is on hand from Edinburgh if I need it."

"You need to let me look after you, Ruth. You shouldn't be looking after me. Let me. Please."

"I will, Harry. I'd like that."

"And how long are you to stay here?"

"I'm to stay here until …..."

"Until what? When?"

"Until you're free to get on with your life."

Harry put down his cutlery, and stared through the window into the dark beyond. "I don't understand this at all. Why did you have to fake your death?"

"It was because of you, Harry, but this time it was Towers' idea. He set it all up while I was in the helicopter, even before I was at the hospital. When he heard from Erin that I had died, he figured that you, being grief-stricken over my death, would then go quietly when the CIA came to get you, because they _would_ have come to get you, Harry. You couldn't just escape their custody, and have them say `oh, fine, have a nice day'. Had you believed me to be alive, you would not have gone with them quietly. You would have kicked up a fuss, and if you hadn't, the rest of your team would have. Imagine Dimitri and Erin chasing after a CIA van, guns blazing, scaring the pants off the locals."

"So _Towers_ organised this whole thing?"

"Not all of it. Just parts of it. When he heard from the hospital that I'd made it through surgery, he decided I should be airlifted out of London just in case you and I ran into one another. It was his idea that I remain dead to everyone at Section D, and especially to you."

"So this was why they wouldn't let me see your body? Because there wasn't a body to see?"

"Of course. It took me a day or two to figure out what was behind it all. Towers has been my contact all along. Then one day he let it slip that the CIA were still planning to pick you up and take you to the US. I couldn't bear were that to happen to you, any more than I could bear it nine days ago, so I suggested to Towers that he send you here to stay with me until your name could be cleared with the Americans."

"Thank you, Ruth. As usual, I am indebted to you."

"Towers huffed and puffed for a bit, but I soon had him seeing things my way. I mentioned how it would look if the head of counter-terrorism in MI-5, a man who had given his life to the country for over 30 years, were carted off by the Americans for a trumped up charge, and his employers did nothing to stop it. I then mentioned how the press might interpret it, and that made him think differently. Towers, after all, is just a politician, and all politicians need the press on their side. I then suggested that you be brought here to stay with me while he and the DG made a reasonable effort to clear your name, and send the CIA packing. There may need to be a full scale enquiry into Jim Coaver's death, although the Home Office will endeavour to avoid that kind of scrutiny."

"Oh, Ruth. You are doing for me what I never managed to do for you."

"Don't get all sentimental on me, Harry. I just did what I thought was right."

Harry again felt the tears close to the surface, so they finished their meal in near silence.

"Stay where you are," he said, as she stood and began to gather the dishes from the table. "I'll do this. In fact, I'm going to be doing everything from now on, including the cooking."

She sat down, placing her hands in her lap. "Should I be worried?"

"No. As it happens, I'm quite a competent cook."

Harry cleared the table, and scraped leftovers into a small bucket under the sink. "What do you do about food and other supplies?" he asked as he rinsed their dirty dishes under the tap, and loaded them into the dishwasher.

"I have use of a car, but with my injury I'm unable to drive it, so someone from Chapel Farm rings me each morning just after nine o'clock, and I tell her what I need, and the nurse brings it when she visits at eleven. It's all being paid for by the Home Office. I've even had my underwear bought for me, so if you need anything, I can order it in the morning."

"I could do with some underwear, too, and some soap."

"I have soap."

"I need _man's _soap, Ruth, not girly-smelling stuff."

"Fine, then give me a brand and a name, and your wish will be granted. Same with your underwear."

"I'll have a few pairs of Calvin Kleins, then. Six should be enough."

When he'd finished cleaning up after their meal, he sat down in his chair across the table from Ruth. He noticed an expression on her face which was familiar to him – a mixture of caution, trepidation, and her mind running a mile a minute. He didn't have long to wait.

"Harry," she said carefully, "there are four bedrooms in this house, but I've chosen the one closest to this room, so that I don't have far to walk. There are three other rooms you can choose for your own, but I'd really like it were you to share my room."

Harry stared across the table at her, his mouth open, his face showing shock.

* * *

_**A/N: Please suspend belief where Ruth's physical symptoms are concerned. Given she had major surgery only 7 days prior to this chapter, she'd probably not be as well as I write her here... but I need for her to be …... for reasons which will soon become apparent! I'm also aware of the thinness of the plot, but this story is not plot-driven. **_


	3. Chapter 3

"_Harry," she said carefully, "there are four bedrooms in this house, but I've chosen the one closest to this room, so that I don't have far to walk. There are three other rooms you can choose for your own, but I'd really like it were you to share my room."_

_Harry stared across the table at her, his mouth open, his face showing shock._

* * *

"I don't know what to say," he said.

"Just say you will, Harry. I'm not talking about sex. I'm not yet well enough for that. I'd like you in my bed with me …... for company …... and if I'm reading the signs correctly, you would like to be with me. Is that right?"

"That's quite some speech, Ruth. Yes, I'd like that, but I have to warn you that I snore …... or so I've been told."

"And I hog the duvet, and refuse to share it," she said with a smile. "I'm sure we'll work it out ... somehow."

"Do you need help showering? Or getting in and out of the bath?"

"I've managed on my own so far, but if you want to help, then I'm not about to stop you." Ruth smiled at Harry's embarrassment. Dear sweet Harry. He'd not ever fooled her with his bluster and his macho act.

There was a combustion stove built into the fireplace in Ruth's bedroom, so while she prepared herself for bed, he gathered an armful of wood from the woodshed at the end of the path out the back.

"Are you decent?" he asked, standing outside the bedroom door. Not hearing an answer, he pushed open the heavy wooden door with his shoulder, and stepped into the room. He saw her before she saw him. He almost dropped his armload of wood before he pulled himself together. _Christ, Pearce,_ he said to himself, _stop acting like a horny adolescent._ Ruth stood on the other side of the bed wearing her pyjama bottoms, and top. The only problem for Harry was that her top was open, and she was concentrating on sorting out which button belonged in which buttonhole. A large rectangular plaster covered much of her lower left side and abdomen, but on full display were her round and full breasts, her nipples erect in the cold night air. He'd fantasised so often about those breasts, but they were far finer than his fantasies had allowed. With every available ounce of his diminishing self control, he turned as if to leave, muttering a `sorry'.

"Harry, don't leave. Come in."

He half turned, not looking at her. "But, you're ….."

"You'll see me this way some day soon, so why not now? Besides, that firewood looks heavy."

"It is," he said, turning to face her, and using all his willpower to look at her face and nowhere else. He walked past her and dumped the wood on the hearth, busying himself with opening the stove and setting the fire. Behind him, he hoped that Ruth had managed to cover herself. If not, he'd surely spontaneously combust. He waited until the fire caught before he closed the stove door and stood up. Feeling Ruth's hand on his arm he turned to face her. This time, her pyjama top was closed, all buttons having been done up.

"Harry," she said gently, "can we talk about this? I don't want you to be embarrassed, but nor do I want to hide my body from you, and I don't want you to hide your body from me. If we're to share a room, we have to be more open than this. Do you remember what I asked you just before I was stabbed?" She'd dropped her hand, but she was still standing very close, and he could smell the soap on her skin, and feel her warm breath on his neck.

"You asked me to leave the service with you, and to live with you in your cottage in Suffolk."

"And do you remember what you said in reply?"

"I don't think I said anything. I was quite shocked, but pleasantly surprised. I think I nodded my head."

"Yes, and I took that as an affirmative. Do you remember how many bedrooms there are in that cottage?"

"You told me there were two, Ruth."

"And what had I planned for the second bedroom?"

"You'd thought it could be my office."

"Yes, so what would that say I'd planned for our sleeping arrangements?"

"We'd sleep together, in the other bedroom."

"Correct. And when I assumed that we'd sleep in the same room, I didn't mean as siblings or friends. I meant us to sleep as lovers, Harry, in the same bed. Is that how you understood it, too?"

He nodded, having suddenly lost the power of speech. Ruth put both her palms on his chest, and moved so close to him that he could feel her soft breasts against his chest each time he breathed out. He was afraid he might pass out.

"Were I well now – at this moment – I'd want you in my bed as my lover …. tonight. It's likely to be a few weeks at least until I can offer myself to you in that way. Until then, I thought we could be adult about this, and familiarise ourselves with one another. We've worked closely for years, but we've never lived together. Harry, I don't mind if you see my body. I'm not ashamed of it. It's the body of a forty-something woman, so it's far from perfect ….."

"You have a beautiful body," he whispered. "I think it's beautiful. To me, it is perfect. My body, on the other hand ….."

"Harry, I don't expect you to have the body of a thirty-year-old. I know you've seen better days, and that you carry a bit of weight around the middle, but so what? It's you I love, and your body is just a part of who you are. I want to watch you get undressed at night, and dressed in the morning. We need to do that in this time while we're waiting for me to heal. Of course, I'm assuming that you want to have sex with me."

Again he was struck speechless.

"Do you or don't you?"

"I do. Very much. Eventually …... not yet …... well, because …..."

"Good. We have desire in both parties, and that's a good beginning."

With her hands still resting against his chest, she reached up and placed her lips on his. It was a soft and subtle kiss. She was aware that to push him too far and too soon would be unfair. He put his hands on her waist and responded to her kiss. When his lips parted, and his tongue searched for her lips, she pulled out of the kiss.

"We need to move slowly with the kissing and such. I'm aware how you feel, and I feel the same way. I don't want either of us to experience too much frustration."

Ruth took a step away from him, dropping her hands from his chest, as he dropped his own hands from her waist.

"Harry, do you trust me?"

He nodded.

"Are you happy for me to watch while you undress for bed?"

A small groan came from his throat before he answered her. _What is she doing to me?_ "Just so long as you don't touch and don't judge."

"As much as I'll long to touch you, I won't. And I'm the last person to be judging you."

"Can we have the main light off? The fire will throw out enough light for us to see by."

Ruth turned out the light, then moved to the bed and slid under the duvet to watch him. The room was cast in flickering shadows, and suddenly Harry felt able to do as she'd asked. He began with his outer garments, which he then folded and hung over an armchair in front of the fireplace. Eventually, after he'd removed his shirt, and his shoes and socks, he stood in front of her, dressed in only his trunks. It was then he realised that his bed wear – his track pants and his t-shirt – were still in the bathroom where he'd left his hold-all.

"I have to get the rest of my clothes," he said. As he walked through the dark in just his trunks, he willed his body to relax. Whilst he didn't mind so much her seeing the state of his excitement while he was in his trunks, for her to see him naked and in that state was almost too much for him. When he awoke that morning, he had contemplated his life yawning ahead of him, devoid of her presence, and now here he was, undressing in a darkened room while she watched from the bed. Was it any wonder he was suffering from the shock of it all? Back in the bedroom with his hold-all, he lay out his bed wear, and stood beside the bed, looking at her. He could see the arousal in her eyes. They glowed darkly in the firelight, just as he imagined his own to be. Suddenly, she reached across to him, although her arm wasn't long enough to reach him.

"Let me, Harry. Let me take off your shorts. I can …... do something about it, if you like."

* * *

_**A/N: I honestly don't know what has happened to this story. It's gone all `Carry On Up The A92', and I hadn't planned for that to happen at all. I'm telling myself that I'm experimenting with a new and bold, reborn Ruth. Not sure if it works, but it's proving to be huge fun to write!**_


	4. Chapter 4

_**A/N: Thanks so much to all who are reading this, and especially to the reviewers, all of whom have been very kind.**_

* * *

_He could see the arousal in her eyes. They glowed darkly, just as he imagined his own to be. Suddenly, she reached across to him, although her arm wasn't long enough to reach him._

"_Let me, Harry. Let me take off your shorts. I can …... do something about it, if you like." _

* * *

From where she lay against her pillow, she began to undo the buttons on her pyjama top. Once the last button popped open, she shrugged off her top. In the dancing half-light from the fire her body was even more alluring, more lovely to him than it had been earlier. "Lie on the bed," she said, patting the mattress beside her.

He did as she asked. She placed her right hand on his chest, and slowly, very slowly moved the tips of her fingers down over his stomach to the waistband of his trunks. As she dipped her fingers under the waistband, he leaned across to her and kissed her, deeply and fully, lips apart, tongues searching, finding, touching. Suddenly she lifted the band of his trunks away from his erection, and pulled them down. Pulling out of the kiss, he grabbed them with one hand and pulled them off.

"Let me look at you," she said. He lay back on the bed, completely naked. "You're beautiful," she said. "Don't let any woman tell you otherwise."

"I'm hoping there won't be any other women, Ruth. Only you …..."

"Good," she said. "Can I?" she added, her hand moving back to his body.

"I'd like to touch your breasts if I may," he said, his hand hovering. She lay back against the pillow, removing her hand from his body.

"That's the reason I removed my top. I'd like to feel your mouth on them, too."

_God! Where had Ruth been hiding this other personality, and are there more where this one came from?_ "Ruth," he said, as his fingers circled her nipple, "where did all this come from? You've run from me more times than I can count. I've wanted this with you for so long, but you never seemed interested."

"It's amazing the difference a death scare can make to one's outlook on life. Being a long way from our work helps also. I've wanted this with you, too. I didn't know how to make it happen. It scared me so much."

"Why would it scare you?"

"It …... there have been so many reasons to …... to not …... I don't really know, now I look back on it."

When he leaned across to her and took a nipple in his mouth, she touched his chest with her fingers. He flicked his tongue over the nipple while his fingers circled her other breast. He heard her breathing deepen and begin to labour, and then she pushed him away.

"Harry, I'm so sorry. This is the reason …..." He could tell that her breathing was being compromised.

"If you orgasm it hurts your lungs?"

She nodded her reply. He could see the tears in her eyes, and the regret and sadness on her face. "I'm …. so …. sorry," she said, her breathing shallow.

"No, I'm sorry. I should have taken things more slowly." He moved closer to her and held her firmly while her breathing steadied.

Once she was again breathing without distress, Harry pulled away from her, and reached to the foot of the bed for his trunks, and pulled them back on. As much as he'd wanted and needed sexual release on this night, he was prepared to wait until she was well, and they could enjoy it together. To expect anything else was unfair. He turned towards her, pulling the duvet over them both. She moved her hands to once again do up her pyjama top. Harry put a hand out to stop her.

"Leave it," he said. "I want to see your body when I wake up."

He moved close to her, and indicated she should nestle her head against his chest, while he put an arm around her. They slept this way, the fire burning quietly in the stove, casting an orange glow over the room.

* * *

Harry awoke suddenly to the ringtone of a mobile phone next to the bed. The bed beside him was empty. He was about to pick it up and answer it when Ruth entered the room. He leaned back against the pillows and watched her press the button to take the call. So much for waking up to her bare breasts. She was dressed in a full-length bathrobe, and the only skin on display were her hands and face.

"Emma Mulholland," she said as she answered. She placed an order for food and supplies to the person on the other end of the phone. He was not really listening to her until he heard her say, "My husband has arrived here, and he'll need more clothes. Can you get Calvin Klein trunks? Black ones? He needs six pairs. Size? I'm not sure …..." She turned to Harry and watched as he formed the letter `M' in the air. "He says `M'. Does he want anything else?" Ruth looked at him, and he mimed washing himself. "Soap. He needs soap." She gave the brand and quantity, and then rang off.

"So …..," Harry said, "we're married, are we?"

"I'm Emma Mulholland, and you're Lewis Mulholland, so I suppose that means we are, yes."

"Whose idea was that?"

"Mine. Why?"

"I was afraid it was Towers'."

"I was given the name, so when they were creating a legend for you, I suggested to William that you be my husband. Just for the duration."

"Have you ever thought what a strange existence we have, Ruth?"

"Yes, but other than the danger, it's a lot of fun."

"Do you need help in the shower?"

"How do you know I haven't already showered?"

"Just guessing. It's just that I would imagine it's difficult for you to wash your back, as well as your feet and legs. Do you want me to join you in the shower after breakfast? I promise I'll behave."

"Sure, but let's have breakfast first."

* * *

While Harry cleaned up after breakfast, Ruth prepared for her shower. This was a strange situation for them both. They loved one another deeply, had not consummated their relationship, had barely engaged in any level of physical intimacy, but were now thrown into an enforced closeness while living alone in a remote house, with Ruth requiring help with dressing and bathing. It was the kind of dependency which was natural and comfortable for long-time lovers, but uneasy for those who had not had the freedom to familiarise themselves with one another's bodies. For him, every revelation, no matter how small, was a cause for high levels of arousal.

"Are you ready for me, Ruth?" Harry asked from outside the shower cubicle.

"Yes."

He slid open the glass door and stepped in beside her. She turned to him shyly. "That's disappointing," she said.

"What is?"

"You're wearing trunks. I was hoping …..."

"I told you I was planning to behave myself."

"Yes, I know. I was hoping you'd change your mind."

"How do you want me to wash you?"

She handed him a sponge and some shower gel. "My back and shoulders first."

She turned so that she presented her back to him. He squeezed the gel on to the sponge, and gently washed her shoulders, and then down her back, being careful to not touch skin on skin. He didn't want this act of assistance and compassion to get out of hand. He rubbed the sponge down her sides, and then over her buttocks, carefully standing so that his body didn't touch hers. "What about your bandage, won't it get wet?" he asked.

"I've been given a waterproof covering to put on for showers and baths, to ensure the wound stays dry."

He kneeled behind her as he sponged under her buttocks and down the backs of her thighs, to her knees, calves, and then her ankles. He longed to lean his face into her buttocks, to kiss her there, and then take his kisses around to the front of her body. He was aware that his thoughts were again having an effect on his own body. His half-arousal strained his trunks. _So much for behaving myself_, he thought.

"Turn around," he said, still kneeling.

This time, he picked up each of her feet, and washed them, using his fingers to rub the gel between each of her toes, before he sponged her ankles, her shins and then her thighs. His eyes were in line with her pubic hair, and he had to stop himself from wondering what delights lay beneath. By the time he'd finished washing her, and stood up to face her, he was again hard, and his wet trunks clung to him like a second skin. Ruth had noticed. She ran a fingertip the length of him, and then squeezed him.

"Don't," he said, pulling away from her.

"Harry, you can't keep going like this. I can help you out …... if you know what I mean."

He did, of course.

She ran her fingers around the waistband of his trunks, and grasped his erection in her fingers.

"I'd rather wait until we can do something pleasurable together," he said, trying to compartmentalise his thoughts, desperate to not react to the ministrations of her fingers.

"I might have to wait a month or more. I'm sure you won't last that long. Harry, if we're to live this closely …..."

With that, she pushed down his trunks, grasped his buttocks, and drew him closer to her. He had no resistance at all. He emitted a groan from deep in his throat, and put his arms around her, pulling her breasts against his chest, savouring the softness of her skin against him. Their bodies fitted together like they were always meant to stand close to one another in this way. Ruth's hands massaged his buttocks, pulling him to her and then away again. This movement of their bodies meant his erection rubbed against the skin of her good side, and he felt himself close to climax. Ruth, hearing the quickening of his breathing, pulled away from him so that she could grasp him with her right hand. With their eyes locked, she stroked him gently and slowly at first, and then hard and fast, almost roughly, and with her three fast and hard strokes he dropped his head on to her shoulder and closed his eyes as he ejaculated over her stomach. He breathed out heavily, lifted his head from her shoulder, and supported most of his weight by pushing her back against the tiles, so that he could rest his hands on the walls. They stood under the running water for some time until his breathing normalised.

He hadn't wanted their first sexual encounter to be like this, with him having all the pleasure, and she delivering it. It wasn't how he liked to be with women, and especially not with Ruth. He'd been exhausted by his continued arousal, and was now replete, his muscles like jelly. Once he was again capable of supporting his own weight, he lifted his head, put his arms around her, and kissed her gently. "Thank you," he said. "I want to be able to do the same for you some day soon."

"I look forward to that," she said, returning his kiss.

He leant down and held her close to him, his mouth against her ear. Had it not been for the nurse due to arrive at eleven to change Ruth's dressing, they may have stood holding one another in the shower cubicle for the whole morning, with the water rushing over them, washing away the fear, pain and terror that had been their reality for the previous ten days.


	5. Chapter 5

_He leant down and held her close to him, his mouth against her ear. Had it not been for the nurse due to arrive at eleven to change Ruth's dressing, they may have stood holding one another in the shower cubicle for the whole morning, with the water rushing over them, washing away the fear, pain and terror that had been their reality for the previous ten days._

* * *

As a result of what happened between them in the shower on the first morning Harry had stayed at the farmhouse with Ruth, everything changed. It was as though the considerable sized elephant in the room had been sent packing. They had always felt deeply for one another, even when that feeling had been anger or frustration with the actions or inaction of the other. During the previous 14 hours they had advanced their physical relationship in a way which demanded they trust one another. They were both aware that trust didn't just happen; it couldn't be willed with the force of one's need for it. Trust needed to grow, and for anything to grow and thrive it requires both time and the right climate, soil and food. What Ruth had pushed Harry through had been the equivalent of growing bamboo in a hothouse, fed by massive doses of nitrogen.

Once they'd turned off the shower, dried themselves, then dressed, they were already different people. Harry had planned to explain to Ruth that he'd wanted their first sexual encounter to be so different from the way it had been, with pleasure being given and received equally. By the time they dressed, he knew that she'd understood that, but had acted anyway, perhaps out of compassion for him, but ultimately out of love. They no longer needed conversation to keep the door between them open. Their actions spoke so much louder and more clearly than mere words. Besides, neither had been very lucid or forthright with words; in their shared past words had so often failed them. Ruth's actions since Harry had arrived had spelled the end to that which was left unsaid, that which had always hovered between them.

During the nurse's visit, Harry busied himself in the bedroom, making the bed, picking up and folding clothes which they'd dropped on the floor, and finally, cleaning out the ashes from the combustion stove, and stacking fresh logs on the grate to be lit later in the afternoon. By the time he was ready to make them some lunch, the nurse had finished with Ruth.

"Mr Mulholland," the nurse said as Harry entered the living room, while Ruth concentrated on closing the buttons on her shirt. "You'll be glad to hear that your wife is healing well. Better than we could have hoped for."

"I'm glad to hear that," he said, his eyes never leaving Ruth.

"I'm recommending that Dr Blain visit the day after tomorrow to remove her stitches. It won't be long until your lives can go back to normal."

Harry showed the nurse to the door, and then shut it behind her to keep out the cold air.

"If she only knew what `normal' is for us, she wouldn't recommend it," Ruth said, her face serious.

"Our idea of normal is not something that others can easily understand," he said, a small smile on his lips.

"Getting shot at, stabbed, losing friends …... that isn't even partly normal, Harry."

Harry reached her, and leaned down to kiss her. It was a long, soft and sensual kiss, but he was careful to not kiss her too deeply. "I know it isn't. Not now, anyway. You sound jaded, Ruth."

"Can you blame me? The offer I made at the estuary still stands. Leave the service and live with me."

"You really mean that, don't you?"

"I don't say what I don't mean. I've never been more serious about anything."

* * *

Privately they each contemplated Ruth's suggestion. They were each still thinking about it as they ate their lunch of scrambled eggs with a green salad.

"You must really want me to be healthy, Harry."

"I do. From now on, no skipped meals, no convenience foods. Only vitamin-enriched goodness."

"Says the man who manages to survive on a whiskey-based diet."

"It's too late for me to get healthy."

"I beg to differ, Harry. If we're going to have a life of any kind together, I don't want you to be having a heart attack on me. If I'm getting healthy, then so are you."

"Okay. While you're resting after lunch, I'll go for a walk. How does that sound?"

Ruth's face broke into a wide smile. Her approval was clear.

Harry reached the top of the hill at the back of the farm, his breath labouring, his chest heaving with the effort. His breath vaporised on contact with the air. He hadn't realised how unfit he was, and in that moment he determined to walk every day while Ruth rested. She wouldn't want a flabby, unfit man as a lover. He turned to look at the farmhouse below. It had a chocolate box quality to it – grey stone walls, gabled roof, smoke curling from two chimneys. He could feel the pull of what he had once treated with derision, what he called a `normal life', a desire for domesticity – regular healthy meals, a comfortable bed, and the same woman in his bed each night, someone he loved with whom to share it. He'd never wanted that for himself before, but being with Ruth had changed everything. He'd had a brief taste of domesticity, a stable life, one with a rhythm to each day, one which followed the path of the sun across the sky. It had given him a lot to think about.

* * *

_Two Weeks later:_

"Don't," she said.

"Don't what?"

"Don't cover yourself up."

She was already in bed, propped up against a couple of pillows, watching everything he did with interest. He'd removed his trunks and was about to slip on his track pants, when she'd spoken.

"I can't come to bed naked, Ruth."

"Why not? I like to see your body. You have a beautiful body."

It was a conversation they'd had in one form or another every night for two weeks. Despite her no longer having to wear a dressing to cover her wound, Ruth still wore pyjamas to bed, while at the same time, devising ways in which his naked body could be on display for her open and unlimited appreciation. In his mind, it was meant to be the other way around. His body should be covered, while hers needed to be seen, chiefly for him to admire and to worship, to make love to with his eyes. Not since he'd been very young had any woman found his body attractive. He should have known that Ruth would be different from all the other women he'd known.

"I'm not getting into bed with you while I'm naked, Ruth. Not until we get the all clear."

"Did I tell you that on his last visit I had the doctor fit a coil? I didn't want us to be messing with those rubber doodahs."

"You know that's not what I mean by `the all clear'."

Her eyes were on him, watching him, assessing him. He loved it and hated it all at once. He loved it that she found him so intriguing, and he hated that under her intense scrutiny, she may discover his flaws. He picked up his trunks and put them on before sliding under the duvet, and edging closer to Ruth. Once he was lying next to her, she put her arms around him and drew him closer, so he turned slightly, so that he could see her face.

"How long did the doctor say?"

"How long?"

"You know. Until we can do the deed."

"Do the deed? Anyone would think we were arranging the assassination of a head of state. Harry, you know that if you need it I can …... like we did last time."

"I know, but I'd much rather you were able to fully participate. There's not the same level of enjoyment if it's just me …..."

"I've never met anyone quite like you, Harry. Every other man I've been with never bothered whether I was fully participating or even partly participating, as long as they got what they came for …... pun intended."

Harry smiled at her, and gently kissed her cheek. "You deserve better than men who behave like that towards you …... and you still haven't answered my question."

"The doctor says I'm healing nicely, and with another two weeks of rest and being looked after by a certain man, I may be able to enjoy what he quaintly called `intimate relations'. He said that my rapid recovery is testament to patients being allowed to recover in their own homes, surrounded by their loved ones. I'd have to agree with that."

* * *

_Two weeks later:_

Harry had awoken hard after a dream in which he and Ruth were about to make love. He had jolted out of sleep just as he'd been about to enter her in the dream. Despite their physical closeness during the four weeks they'd lived alone in the farmhouse outside Chapel Farm, he had managed his body's desires by controlling his thoughts. It had worked until now, but the urge he now felt to be inside her was so powerful that he pulled his body away from Ruth's side, and quietly got out of bed. The room was still warm, the embers in the combustion stove still glowing. He grabbed the bathrobe which he'd purchased, thanks to the continuing generosity of the Home Office, and crept out of the room. In the living room, he scraped out the hearth in the fireplace, and rebuilt a fire. Once it was burning freely, and his body had settled, he headed to the shower. A cold shower was out of the question, but perhaps standing under a stream of warm water would relax his muscles.

Standing under the water, his face turned upwards, he remembered that the doctor was visiting Ruth today, and that he had intimated that she would be ready to continue her life `as normal'. Taken literally, that would mean that Ruth would again be free to work with Towers in the Home Office alongside her PA, Margot, visit the Grid every few days, and perhaps have her life put in danger due to some random miscalculation by him. If she managed to survive what he'd put her through, she'd go home to a cold and empty house and her cat, and sup on leftovers from a meal she'd prepared the day before. He hoped that was no longer Ruth's idea of `normal'.

A gust of cool air shocked him into turning around to see the door to the shower cubicle slide open. As if he'd conjured her from his thoughts, a naked Ruth joined him, sliding the door closed behind her.

"Why are you here?" he asked, his eyes hungrily running up and down her body.

"The same reason you are."

"I doubt it."

"I know why you're here, Harry. You were thrusting against my thigh in your sleep."

He turned his face away, embarrassed. "I was dreaming."

"I know. I almost tore off my own pyjamas then and there, but then you got out of bed. I thought I might find you here."


	6. Chapter 6

_**A/N: This is the penultimate chapter of this fic. Thanks so much to all who have read, and to those who have taken the time to review.**_

* * *

"_I know why you're here, Harry. You were thrusting against my thigh in your sleep."_

_He turned his face away, embarrassed. "I was dreaming."_

"_I know. I almost tore off my own pyjamas then and there, but then you got out of bed. I thought I might find you here."_

* * *

"You're not the only one with needs." she said, stepping so close to him that their bodies touched – her breasts against his chest, their abdomens touching as they breathed in, his half-erect penis touching her belly button, his knees against her thighs. She grasped his face in her hands and kissed him, opening her mouth, and flicking her tongue along his lips. Even had he wanted to, he could not have pulled away. He'd used all his considerable self control in keeping himself away from her these past four weeks. He wrapped her in his arms and drew her as close to him as he could without drawing her inside his body. Their kiss deepened, he felt his erection harden against her, his breathing became rapid, as did hers, as she lifted one leg up and rested it on his waist, opening herself to him. With the greatest of self-control, he pulled away from her and watched her face, as she opened her eyes, and looked at him with desire swimming in her eyes.

"Does your scar hurt?" he asked "It looks …."

"Ugly?"

"No, I was going to say it looks raw."

"It looks worse than it feels. You ought to know that."

He nodded, concern still on his face. "Are you alright with this?" he asked. "I don't want to continue this if you're not ready."

"You're looking at a woman who is ready, Harry," she said as she reached out with her fingers, and trailed them down his length.

Before he again put his mouth on hers, he whispered `I love you' against her lips. This was the first time he'd uttered those words to her. The occasion was momentous in more ways that one. He took his mouth to her breasts, sucking and biting each nipple, at the same time his fingers wandered over her abdomen, rubbing and circling her skin, until they reached her soft folds. He stopped and waited until she let him know what she wanted next.

"Harry," she managed to say, "I'm ready. I was ready ….. when we were still in bed together ... and you were …... dreaming. Nice as what you are doing is …... it's …... unnecessary."

He laughed lightly against her chest. When he lifted his face to look at her, he could see his own arousal reflected in her eyes. He bent his knees slightly and grabbed her under her bum. "Tuck your legs around me," he said, as he lifted her until she was at the right height for him to enter her, and pushed her until her back was against the tiles. "This may not last long," he breathed into her ear. "I've been waiting for this for a long time."

"Me too," she said. "Now, stop your prattling and do the deed."

He almost laughed aloud at her words, but suspected he was suffering from nerves, and if he didn't hurry up and `do the deed', he may be rendered incapable. With one hand between them, she guided him into her. Once he was fully inside her, having adjusted their bodies so that ease of movement was assured, he stopped moving, and stayed absolutely still while he tried to bring his breathing under control. He felt tears welling at the back of his throat. Strangely, and not wanting to analyse why it was, he felt similarly to how he'd felt when he'd arrived at the farmhouse that first night, and had discovered she was still alive. He took a breath, and swallowed his tears, certain that Ruth wouldn't want a crying man inside her. He began moving slowly and gently, wanting this to last as long as possible.

"I want this to be hard and fast, Harry."

He stopped suddenly. His Ruth was full of surprises. "Are you sure?"

She nodded, her eyes closed, her head back, exposing her neck. So he increased the speed of his thrusts, giving her exactly what she'd asked. It was raw, it was exciting, it was scintillating, it was a wild ride. It was over far too soon. He felt her muscles contract around him, and her breathing rasping in her throat as she cried her release. He'd been so close anyway, so he allowed himself to let go completely, gasping as he spilled inside her. He held her against him, her face tucked against his neck, his face buried in her wet hair.

It was once his orgasm had left him spent that the tears came. He cried quietly at first, and then the sobs became louder, his chest heaving. Ruth pulled away from him so that he slipped out of her. She took her legs from around him, and put her feet to the floor, feeling his penis soft and benign against her stomach.

"Harry, what is it?" she asked, holding his face in her hands and kissing his cheek. "What's wrong?"

He shook his head, not knowing the answer himself. Ruth leaned behind him to turn off the shower, and then she wrapped her arms around him, and rested her head against his shoulder. She held him until he quietened.

"It wasn't awful for you, was it?" Ruth asked at last.

"God no. Just the opposite."

"Why the tears, Harry? I'm beginning to think it's something to do with me."

"In a way, it is." He lifted his head and looked at her. Despite her being wet all over, she was the most exquisite sight he'd ever seen. He leaned into her, and kissed her gently. "I think it's because two of my dreams have now come true, and the dreams I have for myself never come true."

"Tell me, Harry."

"After you died, or after I thought you'd died, I'd go to bed at night hoping that when I awoke in the morning it would all have been a bad dream, and that you'd be alive. That dream came true for me when I arrived here. My other dream for so long has been to make love to you."

"Oh, Harry." Ruth put her arms around his neck and held his head against her cheek. "I love you so much. You have other dreams for yourself? For _us_?" She felt him nod against her cheek. "But you're not telling me, right?"

He lifted his head, and she could see the redness in his eyes. "That's right. If I tell you, that's bad luck. I can only tell you after they come true."

"So when you again burst into tears, that'll be another dream achieved?"

"Quite possibly," he said with a smile, "or else I may have banged my thumb with a hammer. That would also make me cry, I'm sure."

"Then I'd suggest you steer clear of hammers."

Just then, a mobile phone rang from the living room. They each looked at the other.

"Damn," Harry said at last. "That's my safe phone. I'd better get it. It's bloody Towers."

* * *

Ruth took her time drying and dressing herself. It had been so easy after all. She'd wanted Harry here with her, but had dreaded the possibility that they would each retreat into their familiar shells, so that, even in the privacy of a farmhouse in Scotland, things between them would be no different than they'd been in London. The truth was, she didn't want them to go back to `civilisation', to their old lives. When they left here, she wanted it to be to her house in Suffolk …... except that while she had put in an offer on the cottage, Towers had informed her that someone else had later put in a better offer. She had tried to hide her disappointment, but she was sure that Harry had noticed something. Suddenly, he appeared in the bedroom doorway, phone in his hand, dressed only in a towel.

"Harry, you'll freeze to death," she said.

"But I have my love to keep me warm," he said, moving quickly to her to embrace her in a hug.

"Any news?" she asked, lifting her face from his chest.

"Mmm. Some. The PM has been chatting with the US President. It seems they both agree that my incarceration will not be necessary."

"That's wonderful news. Isn't it?"

"Yes, it is. Now that you and I are ….."

"Lovers? Together? We are both those things, aren't we?"

"Yes, we are, Ruth. As of twenty minutes ago we are lovers, and we are also together. It would be …... inconvenient were I now to be tossed in gaol in Guantanamo. However, there is a catch. The US President has requested that there will be only one way for me to avoid incarceration, and that is if I no longer work for MI-5."

"They're not kicking you out in disgrace, surely. After all you've done for this country?"

"No. Towers says that if I resign, effective immediately, then I'll receive all my entitlements, including my full pension. That's it. If I argue about it, I'll be unceremoniously kicked out with no pension."

"But if you resign, that implies you accept guilt for Jim Coaver's death."

"I know. That's the downside. In a way, I _was_ responsible. That's the way my job works."

"So long as you're happy about it, Harry."

"I'm not happy so much as relieved. Now we can retire to that cottage of yours."

"Funny you should say that. Two weeks ago, Towers rang to tell me that the cottage is gone. Someone else put in a higher offer."

"I'm sorry, Ruth."

"It's fine. There'll be more cottages, I'm sure."

Harry drew her against his chest again, and held her for a few minutes before he told her about Towers' other suggestion. "Towers also suggested we hook up a fax machine to the landline in this house, and he'll fax through some papers for me to sign. Then all I have to do is empty my office when we get back to London. Retirement here I come." Harry felt able to breathe out fully for the first time in months.

"The fax machine is in the cupboard under the cooker, behind the wok."

"I'll go and plug it in, then."

"Get dressed first, Harry. I don't want you catching pneumonia. I'll sort out the fax machine, and I'll ring Towers when it's connected."

When Harry was dressed, he joined Ruth in the kitchen. Expecting her to have made a pot of tea and some toast, he was surprised to see her sitting at the table, and in her hand were several sheets of paper out of the fax.

"Was this your doing, Harry?" she said, eyes bright. He knew her well enough to know that she was close to tears.

He sat in the chair next to her and took the paper from her hand. Several pages were his resignation papers, so he put those aside. The paper second from the bottom was a copy of a deed of sale …... for the house in Suffolk …... and the name on the deed was Ruth Elizabeth Evershed.

* * *

_**A/N: Final chapter will go up in 24 hrs. I've been madly writing over the past few weeks, and have around 6-7 finished stories (H & R - what else?) ready to roll.**_


	7. Chapter 7

_He sat in the chair next to her and took the paper from her hand. Several pages were his resignation papers, so he put those aside. The paper on the bottom was a copy of a deed of sale …... for the house in Suffolk …... and the name on the deed was Ruth Elizabeth Evershed._

* * *

"I didn't buy it, Harry. How could I buy a house when I'm supposed to be dead? Who did this?"

"Are you angry about it, Ruth?"

"Did you buy it for me?"

"But are you angry about it?"

"I truly don't know how I feel about it. It was you who bought it, wasn't it?"

Harry nodded slowly, keeping an eye on her face for her reaction. "I had to. I tried to walk away from it a few days after you'd died – or when I thought you'd died – but I rang back next day with a higher offer than the one you'd submitted. For some reason, I had to have that cottage. I needed to do it …... and now I'm glad I did."

Ruth looked across at him, her face confused, almost uncomprehending.

"There's another sheet under the deed of sale, Ruth. It's a letter. For you."

Ruth took the letter from Harry, and read it. He watched her as different emotions passed across her face – curiosity, confusion, understanding, relief, and then gratitude. "It's an explanation from William. He held on to the deed of sale for you, just in case the CIA managed to take you. He also adds that I'm currently on full pay, so I shouldn't concern myself about being out of pocket while I'm here."

"So we now have somewhere to live which is away from London."

"Harry, I don't know what to say. I'm …."

"Say yes, you'll live with me in your cottage …... well, technically it's your cottage, so you can live with whomever you like. You may not even want me there , you might …."

"Harry ..."

"What?"

"Shutup."

"Right. So …... we're okay to do this?"

"We're absolutely fine to do this. The other thing Towers mentions in a PS is that my death was never made official. There was no death certificate. How could I be buried without a death certificate?"

"Sweetheart, I think you're forgetting that you were not buried, and your funeral was a sham, all for show. No death certificate is required for a fake funeral."

"Well, that's a relief," she said, smiling across at him. "Tea?"

"Definitely, and I'll make us some toast."

* * *

_Suffolk cottage -12 weeks later – mid December – early evening:_

Harry removed the cork form the bottle of Brokenwood Merlot, and stood it on the table to breathe. Towers had given them a case of the stuff as a house-warming gift, and had been waiting for the right occasion to begin drinking it. In the oven was a lasagna – home made, and by his own hands – and he was about to make a salad when he heard Ruth's key in the front door. He smiled to himself. At long last, he could safely say that life was good. He deliberately kept his back to the door, so that Ruth could `surprise' him. When he felt her arms slide around his waist, he dropped the knife on to the counter, and leaned back against her so that she could more easily kiss his neck. He then turned in her arms so that he too could embrace her.

"How was your first day?" he asked, after he'd kissed her soundly.

"That sounds like I'm the student, rather than the teacher."

"I'm just checking that those spotty pre-adults treated you with the respect you deserve."

"I'm not sure they appreciate the classics. They were more interested in out-of-class activities."

"They didn't make inappropriate advances, did they?"

"Would you be surprised if they had?"

"No, of course not. They did, didn't they?"

Ruth looked a little embarrassed. "One of them, I've forgotten his name already – Jonah or Noah, or Isaiah, something Biblical, I can't remember – asked me out. Can you believe that? After one class, this little …... pre-adult, as you call them …... asked me out for a drink. He was persistent, too. He wouldn't take no for an answer. He told me I wouldn't regret it. I told him I was spoken for. Then I had to explain the term `spoken for'. It's like being in a country where no-one understands a word you say."

"It's Ipswich, Ruth. Maybe they do speak a different language."

"I think the divide is age-related, Harry, and not location-related."

"Welcome to middle age, Ruth. I think you'll find the natives are friendly on this side of the age divide."

"I think I'm going to enjoy teaching. No terrorists. No need for an armed response team …..."

"Or a surveillance van."

Ruth laughed lightly, and leaned against Harry's chest. "And the best thing about my job is that I only have a two-day week. Tomorrow night at this time I'll be free for five days. Bliss. So many books to read. " She sighed as she allowed her body rest against him. "_Abraham!_"

"What?"

"That was the boy's name, the one who asked me out. Abraham. How could I forget that?"  
"How indeed? I almost forgot," Harry said, pulling away from her. "Those came for you." He indicated the bunch of flowers laying on the dining table, still wrapped in lavender-coloured wrapping paper.

"They're not from you?"

"Sadly, no."

Ruth stepped out of Harry's arms and walked to the table, picking up the flowers, and burying her nose in the blooms. She then withdrew the card from between the blooms. "Cut flowers from Hereford," she said, reading the name of the nursery on the outside of the envelope. She took out the card and read. "Oh, William. You think a bunch of flowers will get me back?"

"Towers?" Harry said. "The cheeky bugger."

"I've only taken leave from the service, Harry. Until I resign, he'll be trying to get me back."

"And you? What do _you_ want?" He was watching her from the other side of the counter. She stood beside the dining table, the flowers still in her arms, the light from a lamp casting a glow over her skin. He was enthralled. He wished he could stop time, locking them in this moment, in her cottage in Suffolk, the end of her first day teaching classics at the university campus in Ipswich. They'd wanted a normal kind of life, and in this moment, they had normal.

"I want this, Harry."

"And what is `this'?"

"Us. Here. Together. Were I working for Towers, we'd have a weekend relationship, and during the week we'd be communicating by phone."

"Or Skype."

"Either way, it would hardly be satisfactory."

"I agree."

"You do?"

"Of course. Looking at your face when you came home tonight …... well, you never looked like that when you were Towers' security advisor."

"How did I look back then?"

"Tired, stressed, and sometimes a bit bored, to be honest."

"I looked bored?"

"Yes, bored. And I know it's not me you're bored with, Ruth."

"Hardly." She smiled at him, her eyes glistening, then dropped her eyes to the flowers. "I have my own office, Harry. At least, it will be mine when Hilary retires in June."

"Hilary?"

"Classics professor. She's retiring to write. That's something I'd like to do one day."

"Write?"

"Yes, write. Does that surprise you?"

"Not really. It seems a natural extension of your passion for language."

"Most of all," she said, putting the flowers back on the table, and joining him in the kitchen, "most of all I need to go to bed with you each night, and wake up next to you each morning."

"For the rest of our lives."

"That goes without saying."

Ruth slid her arms around his waist and pulled him close, before she lifted his shirt out of his trousers, and slipped her hands underneath the material and against his skin. "How long until dinner?"

"Are you asking me what I think you're asking?"

"I'm asking you how long until dinner."

"And I think you're asking me do we have time to go upstairs and make love. If that is your question, I can turn down the oven a notch, and yes, we have enough time."

* * *

Eyes closed, Ruth felt her orgasm building. Her body soaring, she clutched at Harry's shoulders, her fingernails breaking his skin as she let go, her hips bucking beneath him. They lay together in the aftermath of their lovemaking, two hearts pumping hard, sweat glistening on their skin, their arms wrapped around one another.

"I think I drew blood," she said after some time. "On your shoulders and back. Sorry. I got carried away."

"Never apologise for getting carried away, Ruth. At least a few more scratches won't look out of place on my skin."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning you've done it before, as you well know, and with all my previous scars, what's another one? The difference being I've thoroughly enjoyed receiving the wounds you've left on me." He reached down to kiss her gently, not wanting to again stir up their passions. "Just look at us," he said, pulling away from her to look her in the eye. "Four months ago we were grappling with the Gavrik's, the CIA, your new job at the Home Office …... look at us now."

"Delighting in one another in our bedroom in our cottage in Suffolk. Who'd have thought that possible?"

"Not me. I thought that Elena Gavrik was one secret too many for you, Ruth."

"She almost was, but then I discovered that it need only affect me if I let it."

"Glad to hear it."

They lapsed into a comfortable silence, the only sound their breathing, and the light rain against the window pane.

"Ruth," he said at last, "you didn't mention what it is you're planning to write."

"As of this last half hour I thought erotic novels may be a possibility."

"You'll need to research the subject, of course."

"Of course."

"And you'll need someone to help you with that."

"I guess I will." He felt her smile, her mouth moving against the skin of his shoulder. "I'll need a …... companion …... to help me."

"Like a research assistant?"

"Yes, exactly. Someone to guide me through my fantasies. A man who is sensual, highly sexual, and open to …... experimenting …... sexually, that is. Do you know anyone like that, Harry?"

"I think I do, Ruth. When would you like to start researching?"

"I thought we already had. I began my research that first night you spent with me at the safe house in Scotland."

"I hadn't noticed you taking notes."

"It's all up here," she said, tapping her head with one finger.

He pulled her against him, holding her close. "My clever, clever Ruth," he said softly, his lips against her ear.

"My wonderful, loyal, patient Harry," she replied, and then she turned her head to meet his lips with hers.

* * *

_**A/N: The ending feels somewhat abrupt to me – and a trifle cheesy - but I had to stop somewhere, and where better than with a discussion of Ruth writing erotic novels? Thanks so much for reading.**_

_**[Next fic, a one-shot called "Jealous", up in next couple of days.]**_


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